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Pickles... Julien's first request had been to make bread-and-butter pickles. It was such an odd thing to Mireille, who had lived for so long with the idea of simply going to get pickles from the store and having done, but Julien was different. Julien was a crafter.

The first step had been to the Farmer's Market outside of town. There, they'd been treated to a wealth of wonderful treasures, from sweet plums and cherries to radishes and cucumbers to hand cream and honey. Mireille didn't often go there, though anytime she stepped foot in the place she felt a little guilty for it. But the supermarket was far more convenient, really, so visiting the Farmer's Market was a treat. As she looked down at Julien's wondering eyes, and the way he nearly glowed as he took in everything, she amended her earlier thought. If it was a treat, clearly it would be happening far more often...

Eventually, they'd purchased the needed cucumbers (eight in all, though only six were called for in the recipe that Julien brandished), and treated themselves to a box of blackberries besides. They took their treasure home, and the real fun began...

"So what is all this you're gathering?" Mireille asked, as she dug out the cutting board and knife. Her fingers brushed over the wood, feeling the scores and marks of years of chopping. She'd gotten the patterned wood cutting board for her marriage, and there was always that flash of the first time they'd used it. Even now, it jarred her a little, the way she could almost hear Thomas' voice, and see him as he reached around her, gripping her hands to align them better. But you'll ruin the design, she could still hear herself protest, and his answering laughter, rich and mellow.

"The salt goes with the cucumbers and onions," Julien explained, breaking into her reverie. His voice tore her from her thoughts; it was neither rich nor mellow. Instead, his voice was clear and sweet, still youngish but somehow, she couldn't think of him as young. But she also couldn't think of him as an adult. It was a strange mix, confusing and conflicting for her. "After about an hour with the salt, we'll boil the vinegar, sugar, and the celery and mustard seeds, and cook them for a few minutes," he added, carefully measuring out a teaspoon of celery seed and placing it carefully into a bowl where a similar pile of yellow-brown seeds already lay. "Then we put the onion and cucumbers in the jars, pour in the brine... that's what it's called, brine... and close them up." Serious eyes looked up at her as she listened, the cutting board and cucumbers forgotten. "We boil them for ten minutes, to remove any contamination, then let them cool off and put them away for eating."

"Wait," she said, blinking at him. "We seal the jars then boil them?" To her, it sounded suspect, really...

"Yeah," Julien nodded. "It's called processing them. I think it kills germs and stuff." He watched her for a moment, then nodded to the vegetables she was supposed to be slicing. "Do the cucumbers first, please? That way, they won't smell of onions until I'm ready to combine them."

With nothing left to say, Mireille simply nodded and turned to cut the first of the vegetables. After a bit, she found it to be relatively calming work, her cuts slow but precise. They were in no rush, really, and she really wanted his first shot at pickles to be good. So she moved carefully, trying to keep each cut the same size, while he finished up the rest of the preparations. Finally, she turned to him, offering him a plate of the cucumbers and onions, each one neatly arranged on half the plate and piled high. "Here you are," she smiled, setting the plate down near the mixing bowl he was going to use to combine them with the salt before turning and grabbing the board and the spoon. "I'll wash these and get them out of your way while you work," she said, carrying the knife and board to the sink. An absent mumble was her response, and Mireille chuckled softly, reaching for the scrub brush and turning on the warm water.

As she listened to Julien work, the soft shush of salt in the bowl as he sprinkled it over still-wet vegetables and the quiet murmur as he reminded himself of each step, Mireille lost herself a bit. The cutting board was scrubbed hard, then rinsed and set in the drying rack to air-dry, and she reached for the knife, starting to soap one side when it slipped. For a moment, she didn't feel anything different. She was staring down where the bubbles and water were turning pink, and there was nothing wrong with her. And then her pinkie started to throb a little, and the knife slipped from her hand to fall into the water. Her other hand, the one she'd cut, she lifted out of the water, staring dumbly for a moment at the way her finger's pad looked, a flap of skin hanging down and red pouring from it. And then she squeaked as she seemed to realize, and drew a deep breath, reaching for the towel. She couldn't let Julien see it... couldn't scare the poor boy with the sight of so much blood!

She dipped her hand under the running water of the faucet, watching it wash away the deep red liquid before wrapping her finger in the corner of the towel, and then wrapped the towel itself around her hand. She almost thought she'd gotten away with it when she turned... and found Julien just watching her, the large grey eyes solemn as the stared up at her. "You hurt yourself," he said softly, and she found herself holding her breath as he reached out, gentle hands unwinding the cloth. "Do you need the hospital he asked, as the towel spread open, red blood marring the white fabric. She shook her head, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was traumatized... but Julien seemed calm.

"It looks worse than it is," she managed, drawing a shaking breath, and forcing herself to calm down again. Panic and worry sped the heart, and a faster beating heart meant faster pumping... and leaking... blood. "I just need to get a proper bandage on it, so that it can knit back together," she added, and miracle of miracles, there was no high edge to her voice. She sounded calm!

"I'll help you," Julien said, swaying just a bit as he wrapped the towel around her hand again, holding it there so that the blood didn't drip over the carpet as the two of them shambled, oh so awkwardly, to the bathroom. Once there, Julien swayed for a moment, leaning heavily against the counter as he shook his head, but then he was guiding her hand over the sink, unwrapping it to let the blood flow freely down into the drain. She felt the prickle of invisible bugs crawling on her hand, and assumed it was just the hairs settling back into place as she watched the sluggish flow of viscous liquid. Hadn't it been pouring out in the kitchen?

"If we wrap a bandage around it with the skin pressed against the cut," Mireille said slowly, reaching with an awkward hand for the first aid kit in her medicine cabinet, "then it should grow back together, and I shouldn't even need stitches." She paused then, eyeing Julien uncomfortably for a moment. Did he even understand what stitches were?

If he didn't, it didn't show. Instead, he moved to prepare the kit, pulling out antibiotic cream and a thick bandage that could soak up the blood. The cream went over the bandage, a generous dollop that would properly seep into the wound and cleanse it the rest of the way, and then he was wrapping the bandage around her finger, ignoring the fact that the bleeding had almost stopped (almost stopped!). Once it was done, the thick wrap making her a bit awkward, Julien washed his hands, then looked up at her with a worried smile. "...Do you still want to help with the pickles?"

Oh wonderful, helpful, caring child... "Of course," Mireille said softly, reaching with her good arm to tug Julien into a hug. "Of course..."

Roleplay post with Ivyro

After his suspicions about what's going on, Julien invites Toulouse over for some advice... and gains a teacher.

Roleplay post with [ Hot Chocolate. ]

Julien meets a new friend and makes plans for a sleepover.

Roleplay post with [ Hot Chocolate. ]

Kashya's coming to Julien's for a sleepover... but wow has he changed!

Roleplay post with X Purple--Platypus X

Julien's decided to take a baking class, and meets a new friend. (unfinished)

Bound... he was bound with twine, the rough cord chafing his wrists and ankles raw. He could see the red skin as it peeked around the thick cord, and the heavy weight pulled him down so that his shoulders sagged. There were tears on his cheeks, cleaning a track through the smudged dirt and sweat, and his hair hung in lank, dirty clumps that clung to his cheeks and matted with sweat. His eyes closed, and he shuddered, listening to the distant sound of heavy feet tromping through the woods back toward him. The trees offered shade, but there was no mercy in it. He could feel the nature all around him, and knew somehow, that he was lost to it, pulled away by the cold hands of his captor...

Julien sat up sharply, his breath caught in his throat and tears in his eyes. He wanted to scream, but somehow, he could make no sound; he wanted to run, but somehow, he couldn't move his legs. His ears rang, and when he thought about calling out to Mireille, he had a sudden terrified certainty that she would ascend the stairs with heavy, clomping footsteps, would come to quiet him with thick, meaty hands....

And then the certainty was gone, and he'd fallen back in his bed to stare at the ceiling, trying to calm his breathing. He'd never had a dream like that before... never had a dream so terrifying, or one that felt so real, and it scared him that his mind could dream up such images. "What's... wrong with me?" he whispered, shaking his head as one hand lifted to scrub at his cheek. It came away wet with tears that he couldn't remember shedding, and already, the vivid images of his sleep were fading into barely remembered horrors. "Bathroom," he said, pushing himself up to sit again, and swinging his legs down. For a moment, they were heavy, lifeless weights, and then they moved, and the feeling of being helpless and trapped faded into nothing. "I just need a drink of water, that's all."

Mumbling to himself, Julien padded out of his room into the hall, pausing to listen to the midnight silence. He hadn't yelled, despite feeling as though he had. Mirielle was still downstairs asleep, the house quiet. The small reddish nightlight that lit the way from his room to the bathroom barely extended down the first quarter of the stairs, so that when he went to lean on the wall, staring down at the base of the stairwell, all he saw was a darkness that swallowed up all shapes. With a hesitant huff of breath, Julien turned away from the stairs, padding into the bathroom and flicking on the light to stare at his reflection. One hand lifted, rubbing his wrist, but the skin there was smooth and unblemished.

"Maybe I'm just going crazy..."

He shifted slightly, feeling strong arms settle around him from behind, and he couldn't quite resist smiling. He loved to lay like this with his lover, spooned together with their hair fanned out around them as he was held safe and happy within those arms. It was the most soothing feeling in the world to him, and he kept still when he first woke almost every day, not wanting to disturb his lover and have to separate until too late. His eyes slit open, and caught on the way the morning sun lingered over their mingled hair. Laying there, half-dozing in such comfort, the oddest thought slipped into his mind and lingered there, impossible to shake. At first, it was just a vague thought, but it slowly changed, coalescing into something almost sinister that left him shaken, pulling free to sit up in bed, ignoring the sleepy confusion behind him. It was just their hair colors, the red and white trickling together in vivid gleams. It meant nothing. But still, even as he told himself that, he couldn't push the thought from his mind.

blood on snow....

Julien woke with a shudder, sitting up to stare at the far wall as he heard birdsong and saw the way the sun played with the curtains at his window. One arm stole up, wrapping around himself in a sort of half-hug as he tried to banish the thought from his mind. Blood on snow... it felt so important. But what hurt was the loss of the warmth he'd dreamt about. He tightened his grip around himself, feeling another shudder slip through him, and he swallowed, dropping back to stare up at the ceiling. The hair had been so wonderfully red....

Roleplay post with Riyo the Neko Youkai

Julien's been missing Aesop... and what better place to meet the bookish boy than the library? (unfinished)